


Mustache

by BuzzCat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Drabble, Episode: s02e15 Tall Tales, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 12:31:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14449341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuzzCat/pseuds/BuzzCat
Summary: He had first noticed in when he was five. He’d been in class and in the middle of tracing letters on the page to learn his alphabet, he noticed something on his hand. It started as just a purple line, but it slowly grew until a dragon, drawn precisely and beautifully, encompassed his entire forearm. He raised his hand, the one that didn’t have fire being breathed down it from a fanged mouth, and asked his teacher what it meant.“Oh honey, that’s really a question for your parents,” she had said.





	Mustache

Sam had never received anything.

Well, that wasn’t true. He’d never received anything in return.

He had first noticed in when he was five. He’d been in class and in the middle of tracing letters on the page to learn his alphabet, he noticed something on his hand. It started as just a purple line, but it slowly grew until a dragon, drawn precisely and beautifully, encompassed his entire forearm. He raised his hand, the one that didn’t have fire being breathed down it from a fanged mouth, and asked his teacher what it meant.

“Oh honey, that’s really a question for your parents,” she had said. Sam had looked at the dragon and shook his head. He didn’t think his dad would answer some stupid question about a drawing on his arm. Probably yell at Sam for drawing so much to begin with, followed by a rant about how that’s not actually what dragons look like. When Sam got home, he didn’t tell Dean. He put on a long-sleeve shirt and started on his homework. Besides, Dean never had weird drawings, so maybe it was just Sam.

Dean found out fairly quickly, only a couple weeks after it started. John hadn’t seen anything, thank God, but Dean noticed when suddenly his baby brother had American Pie lyrics wrapped around his ankle. In typical Dean fashion, it had not been a long conversation,

“Do you know what that means?” he had asked, pointing to the words. Sam had looked down, then looked back at Dean,

“No.”

“It means you have a soulmate.”

“What’s a soulmate?” Sam had asked, lisping slightly due to missing a tooth. Dean had shrugged and started disassembling and reassembling the nearest handgun,

“It’s just some romantic bullsh—stuff. It means someone you’re going to really really love.”

“Oh. Cool,” Sam had said. They’d been quiet a moment, then Dead had reached over and pulled Sam’s socks up,

“Don’t tell dad.”

“Okay.” And that had been it.

It had taken a while for Sam to truly understand what having a soulmate meant. It was middle school, when the boys were put in one room and the girls in another and they were given The Talk that it was even mentioned. His teacher said that he should only have sex with his soulmate, never anyone else. One boy had raised his hand and asked what happened if he didn’t have a soulmate. The teacher had shrugged and after exchanging a few confused looks with the rest of the staff in the room, said “Whatever you want, as long as everyone agrees to.” Sam hadn’t paid attention to that answer. He had a soulmate. Somewhere out there, he had a soulmate who was an absolutely phenomenal artist and one day they would meet and he would love them so much.

Art kept appearing through time. Everything he could think of and more somehow appeared on his body. Constellations that spanned his entire arm, the entirety of ‘Where the Sidewalk Ends’ splashed across his back on one memorable occasion, another time when a naked mermaid appeared with red hair starting at his collar bone and a purple sparkly tail that ended at his hips. Barely a week went by without something or other appearing on him.

It was the first day of high school that Sam wrote back for the first time. Writing wasn’t quite the best word; he drew back. It wasn’t anywhere near as good as what his soulmate was doing, but Sam liked it anyway. On the inside of his wrist, he drew a tiny pair of wings. Easily seen, but easily concealed. All day, he waited for his soulmate to draw something back, write anything back.

His arm was blank for three months.

Sam tried every day after that, tiny things that would surely be noticed. Wings on the inside of his wrist, movie quotes up and down his arm, even stupid jokes on the tops of his feet. Nothing. Eventually, Sam’s messages were more for himself than whatever soulmate he may or may not have. Reminders of when homework was due. Phone numbers he needed to call. Appointments he made. He never received anything in return.

It kept up like that for a long time. Through Stanford, though Dean getting him back into hunting, through everything. He had a mustache on the inside of his ring finger that was starting to fade and the outline of a three-layer cake slowly appearing on his hip when they had taken the case at Crawford Hall. It seemed simple enough, run-of-the-mill. Right up until they met the janitor. Who was refreshing the drawing of a mustache on the inside of his ring finger. Sam brought his hand up and sure enough, his own “mustache” was looking shiny and new. Before Dean said anything, Sam stepped forward. The janitor hadn’t looked up yet,

“Juuust give me a minute boys, I want to get this looking Dali-worthy.”

“Looks more Tom Selleck to me,” Sam said, holding up his own hand. The janitor looked up and froze. Stared. His hand went back to his side and he gave Sam a look up (and up and up) and down. Dean looked back and forth between the pair of them, looked at the hands that bore the same mustache. Dean scoffed,

“Ah, so that’s who’s been drawing on my baby brother.”

Gabriel looked between the two of them. “Dean Winchester,” he turned to Sam and his voice went a little softer, “and Sam Winchester.”

Sam frowned, “How do you know our names?”

The janitor paused for the splittest of seconds, then grinned, “Just a good guess. Heard you’ve been asking around town.”

Dean frowned, then shrugged, “Word travels fast.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that's been hanging around on my computer forever and I just wanted to get it out there before I forget about it again


End file.
